


Thunderstorms

by silkbow



Series: The Modern Assassins [AU-verse] [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Modern Assassins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:29:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkbow/pseuds/silkbow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Modern Assassin AU] Clay's part of the team, and he and Rebecca spend a cold night alone in a parked van. They find ways to warm each other up. NSFW.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunderstorms

Rebecca loves thunderstorms. There’s just something electric in the air, maybe more literal than most days. It’s just exciting. Rain has the opposing effect alone, it drags her mood down. But just have one crack of lightning across the sky, one single rumble of thunder overhead? You bet her chair wheels closer to the window almost immediately. Glancing up with a look of childish joy on her face, she’s content to spend her free time watching.

Unless, of course. It’s the middle of the night in a parked van with no windows. 

On a particularly cool evening, at that. Her nose is cold and so are her fingers, but they’re roughly four to five hundred miles from the closest safe house and the weather is too dangerous to keep driving. It’s literally storming. They can’t keep the engines on all night either or they’ll never have enough gas in the morning. And talk about conspicuous. So it’s body heat between the two of them, curled up on some of the bedding in the back of the van left there for entirely this purpose.

There weren’t any ‘clean’ motels nearby, so instead they’re in the parking lot of a currently closed diner. Beneath a large tree, though the van itself’s been as weather-proofed as possible. All their electronics shut off, Rebecca can only think of the cell tower’s waves rolling by and Abstergo probably listening to anything they say. They don’t refer to each other by name, but considering they’re alone, they don’t really have to. The other van got ahead of them earlier in traffic, so hopefully Lucy, Desmond and Shaun also got ahead of the storm.

She wants to open the side door to look out, but it’s not quite worth getting that wet for. It sounds like an amazing storm, hearty rolls of thunder and little flashes of lightning that reach all the way to the back where they lay, sneaking through the mostly covered windshield. She slides her head onto his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall. The thermal blanket across them crinkles as she shifts, rolling more onto her stomach against his side. 

“You don’t look tired.” She says, looking at Clay thoughtfully. She rests her chin somewhere along his sternum.

“Never much cared for storms.” He says, quite honestly. The commotion was too akin to fighting, parents fighting, in some way. 

“I love them.” Rebecca said quietly, with a fondness he already knew.

“Figures.” He shifts, sliding his arm around her. They’ve been sharing the same flattened pillow for just over an hour, but somehow in the last half of it he’s become more of a living pillow himself. “Loud, flashy and crackling with energy. Sounds like you.”

Her smile turned impish. “You’re one for excitement too though, right?”

He wasn’t quite sure if the shift against him was intentional—he had a feeling it was, what with her leg curling around his and her hips pressing flush to his side. A very big feeling, that came with a flash of warmth in a place not too far off from where her knee ended up. He chuckled, drumming his fingers against her lower back. He slipped them under the few layers of clothing she had on, feeling the warmth spread off her skin. 

“I know that look.” And boy did he know it well. A little smile, a certain look in her eyes—not hard to miss, but Rebecca was always a little more forward with her body than with her expressions. And it’s not like the thought hadn’t already passed through his head once already. He just figured it might be too cold and not worth the time. Much like Rebecca’s view on opening the door to see the storm.

“I’m cold.” She said, first validating the thought aloud. Not that either really needed that much. “You are too, even if your legs are warm. Your face is like ice.” One ungloved hand of hers, warm from being beneath the blanket, reached up to pat his cheek. She stretched to kiss the one on the other side, rolling the rest of the way over so that her stomach laid flat against his. His hands instinctively reached for her sides, settling on them with splayed fingers. Cool air sneaked between their bodies.

“Colder now.” He said, though his eyes met hers and he was already sold to the idea. But the cold sneaking in was uncomfortable, the two of them shifting in response. 

Rebecca’s hand clasped over his, the other holding herself up to the side of his head. “We better get a move on warming up, then.” 

The second she rolled her hips he caught a breath and held it, smiling crookedly up at her. You think it might be a stupid idea to, for the sake of getting warmer, to start stripping off clothes. But she had a good idea to start with, to get the blood flowing before then. And his hips instinctively responded, hands sliding down her thighs and lips meeting lips as she dips down to kiss him. The earphones are off; it’s just silence in the van and the sounds of the storm in the distance. He almost misses the music, how loud it would be in the dark. But being able to run his hand through her hair unobstructed makes up for it.

Rebecca can be a tender person, but that’s more or less a rarity, or it comes in less defined ways. She’s a completely remorseless bed invading cuddler, for instance. Her arms and her legs both end up around anyone and everyone she sleeps next to, snaking around them like seaweed. She can kiss tender, chaste, but it’s more of a moment thing—or a distracted thing, as is usually the case. A peck on the cheek, the pressing of foreheads together. Not her default, which is actually quite the polar opposite. Like he said, loud, flashy and crackling with energy.

Feisty too, he wants to say by the way she’s pressing firmly down against him with her lips having already pried his apart. It inspires him to react back in the same ways, stirring from a more laid back mood. Her hands run up and down his shirt, peeling it up as her hips do slow, long rocks against his. It’s suddenly a lot hotter in the van, their shifts a little more insistent. 

She peels his shirt up, he pulls hers off. There’s fumbling to prevent too much distance, too much exposure to the cold air that creeps in. But it’s easy to ignore once she’s without her jeans and bra, and he’s got a view of her flushed face smiling down at him. They start off this way, losing a few more articles of clothing while testing out the chassis of the van. 

She bites her lip not to slip and say his name, tilting her chin up and rolling her head back as she steadily rises and falls against him. The van is suddenly so much warmer than it first was, quite pleasurably so, so she paws the blanket farther away. Her breath is still visible, little panting breaths between groans. Each time she brings her hips down on him he presses up to rise, knees bent behind her. She settles down flush against him, rocking her hips side to side, her palms on his lower abdomen.

“Damn,” he says beneath his breath, feeling that lovely adrenaline-fueled beating of his heart somewhere up inside his throat. “Ah, Re… Right there.” 

His eyes meet hers, her smile widens some. He grips her hips firmly, kissing her again as he rolls them over to take over. He spreads her legs wider, massaging her thighs and continuing with a few slow but deep thrusts. Rebecca is capable of tender and slow, but like her hungry kissing and bluntly wandering hands, she likes her sex hard and fast. And he’s quite happy to comply. 

He holds her legs at the back of the knee, bringing them up towards her chest bit by bit. She gasps and writhes, and he pants and moans. Her arms wind around his neck, holding him close so her chin can find his shoulder. Her nails scratch and his lips leave bruises on her neck, down and along her collarbone. Her hair is damp with sweat, his skin is slick with it.

He knows when he’s close, but he also knows that she is too—they know one another’s bodies quite well. Rebecca’s vocal about what she likes and dislikes, literally—though at present it is mostly breathy sighs and murmured words against his neck, repeated ‘yes’s and further directions on what works better, winding her closer and closer to orgasm. The first time they had sex there was a lot of trial and error, but they’ve narrowed it down to a finely tuned art. Just like how Shaun doesn’t like hickeys, Rebecca doesn’t like tickling touches. But, unlike Desmond, she likes just about any position you can fit her in. She’s even a little more flexible than Lucy.

Her legs beginning to tense and untense against his is enough of a sign, and he keeps up the fast and forceful shifting of hips. She feels good, and he tells her that much, holding her tight enough he worries about bruising. But she happens to like bruises, at least most of the time. She also likes giving them, he’s come to find. The one on his neck will be so obvious in the morning; he can already hear Desmond joking about it.

“Shit, shit… Clay…” She holds tightly to him, and his name slips by in a whisper just before her body quickly tenses tight. Her climax rolls over her as he goes on, a little slower as he feels her muscles contract—and that nearly puts him over. She spasms lightly in response to a few of the continued thrusts, though it’s nothing she doesn’t mind by the smile on her face. He finishes with a low grunt, and they kiss again—after pulling out he lies down against her, affectionately sucking a spot on her neck.

“Rebecca.” He says, because she already slipped so it doesn’t matter. He murmurs it a few more times against her warm neck as she plays her fingers through his hair, nuzzling his jaw as they catch their breath. Before the cold sets in again and before the afterglow drifts off, he pulls up the blanket and settles back down beside her. She curls close, all arms and legs like always.

“The rain stopped.” She says, quietly after a moment. Sleepily, even, because her eyes are closed and her head heavy against his chest. He tucks it beneath his chin, arm once again wound around her.

“It might start again. We better wait and see.” He kisses the top of her head and she curls against him, and they finally get to sleep. But not before agreeing that Lucy may have hell for them in the morning. But that was worth it.


End file.
